


I'll Go Anywhere You Want, Anywhere You Want, Anywhere You Want Me

by SpacedOut



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Did I say protective yet?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, Fix It, Geralt has feelings, Geralt will take care of them, Hurt! Jaskier, Hurt/Comfort, I will add more tags as we progress, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaskier Whump, M/M, My OC are evil pieces of shit I'm sorry, Post "Rare Species" Episode, Protective, Protective! Geralt, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scary revenge seeking Geralt, Slow Burn, This will be an angst fest but don't worry I like happy endings, but not super slow, set after 1x06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpacedOut/pseuds/SpacedOut
Summary: “Another.”“Don’t you think you should slow down, Bard? This is the sixth time I served you this hour,” the old man behind the counter said as he leaned his elbow on the aged wood to reach over and take the Bard’s empty tankard.Jaskier hiccupped a laugh and pushed the tankard toward the old man’s reach, “I don’t [hiccup] care, keep em’ coming.”____________________Jaskier gets kidnapped and tortured for information on Geralt's whereabouts.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 131
Kudos: 1815





	1. The Tavern

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I am basing this fic loosely off spoilers from The Witcher TV show. I have not read the books and I have only played the third game in The Witcher series. This story is of my own making. 
> 
> The first chapter **does not** include non-con, that will be referenced in the next chapter. 
> 
> Title is a lyric from Mercury by Sleeping At Last.

“Another.”

“Don’t you think you should slow down, Bard? This is the sixth time I served you this hour,” the old man behind the counter said as he leaned his elbow on the aged wood to reach over and take the Bard’s empty tankard. 

Jaskier hiccupped a laugh and pushed the tankard toward the old man’s reach, “I don’t [hiccup] care, keep em’ coming.”

The old man rolled his eyes and turned to fill up yet another drink for the young Bard.

Jaskier turned to observe the commotion around him. 

On this evening, the tavern was filled with many drunk and jolly patrons. The old log tavern was decorated with flags of neighboring lands that hung along the walls and draped over the ceiling beams. It was considered a neutral location for travelers making their way through the northern and southern kingdoms. 

Seldom could one find neutral locations anymore, especially in the midst of the developing war.

Jaskier watched as old men laugh and tell tall tales of exaggerated adventures while the women ooh’ed and ahh’ed at them. It was a competition of who had the best tales. Normally Jaskier would be all over the storytelling, considering he was one of the best story tellers across the land. Or so he liked to think. 

Not this evening, Jaskier thought to himself. Lately, the only tales he tells is of Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher. 

Thinking about his name makes Jaskier’s chest hurt. 

The old man pushed another mead toward him, “If you’re going to be sick please for the love of Gods, do it out back,” The old man was clearly agitated with him at this point.

Was he really that drunk? Jaskier thought. He shifted a couple chairs over to peer behind the counter where there was a small mirror on the wall. He bent his head to the side and saw his reflection. 

Oh, yeah. He looks rough. His eyes are red and struggling to focus. Below, deep purple bags rested under his eyes. His cheeks were a rosy red from the mead and a bit salty from dried tears that had fallen earlier in the day, right after Geralt told him to basically ‘fuck off’ forever. 

Geralt. 

**“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”**

The words stung like a dagger in his gut, pushing deep and twisting at the hilt. 

Geralt was the first and only constant in this life. Before him there was nothing, just small performances at taverns, inns, and the less than frequent royal gatherings where he could only play music requested by royalty (the royals always wanted him to perform his boring songs of fairytales).

Sure, he would make friends with the inn keepers where he was considered more of a regular. Nothing long lasting. He admits that he has partaken in a handful of one night stands after a long evening of drinking and singing and storytelling. On rare occasion, he would woo a woman enough that he would be invited to stay a little later than sunrise the next morning; that’s where Jaskier would lay in the unfamiliar bed and dream that the woman next to him was his and that they were sleeping in _his_ bed in _his_ little house in the village.

It was those early mornings where he dreamed of being settled.

Then he met the Witcher. 

At first he saw Geralt as a means to make more coin, if he’s being honest. 

The idea of following around a Witcher where he could be escorted on big adventures was tantalizing. He would be able to first-hand witness the big, brooding man slay and kill the world’s most devilish creatures. He would write a new song every day and perform all over the continent. Jaskier would finally be able to flex his creative storytelling talents and push his musical skills to the limit. 

And then, reality set in. 

Hours and hours of walking through dangerous, rough terrain. Long nights spent sleeping in dirt, mud, scum, you name it. Days of searching for monsters hidden in the darkest corners of the regions. Nine times out of ten, Jaskier found himself in some sort of danger where Geralt would have to swoop in and save his ass. 

It was also the first time Jaskier realized just how hated Witchers were. Nearly every village they walked into, the citizens insulted their small party of two (three if you count Roach) with vile words such as “abomination”, “monster”, and “mutant”.

Geralt always just looked bored of their name-calling. It made Jaskier wonder how long Geralt has been dealing with the hatred. 

It was the small villages in need of a monster slayer that held their tongues, saving the insults for later when they would spit them under their breath after he and Geralt (who was usually holding a severed body part as a trophy) returned to the petrified villagers to collect the remaining coin for their labor. 

Being the travel companion to Geralt of Rivia was hard work, sure, but for the first time ever, Jaskier decided that he didn’t so much like the idea of being ‘settled’ anymore.

He liked the long days. Craved the possibility of danger. The unknown. Geralt was haphazard, to say the least. He was a mess, a perfect mess. 

Each move was calculated, sure, but it was never planned. 

Jaskier loved the thrill, the adventure, and the time spent with his travel companion.

Long stretches of silences were common, but it was the moments of small exchanges between the two of them that Jaskier secretly yearned for. 

Watching the heated exchange between Geralt and Yennefer on the mountain earlier that day was difficult. Jaskier and Geralt had become quite the pair over the course of the year they have spent together. Jaskier knew Geralt was falling for the dark haired mage since the time with the djinn. 

Jaskier does not know how he feels about Geralt and Yennefer. On the one hand, he was rooting for Geralt to find happiness in whoever he finds (even though he still thinks the mage is bad news). 

Witchers are stunted in their emotions, yet Jaskier had seen sides of the Witcher not many others have. In the evenings by the fire as they drifted on and off beside each other, Jaskier would tell Geralt how he longed for familiarity and a place to call home. Geralt listened, or at least appeared to through grunts of acknowledgement every time Jaskier spoke, and sometimes if the setting was right, Geralt would share similar feelings of wanting something more than his evenings alone.

Jaskier remembers one of these exchanges from just the other night.

_“What do you call an ox and a Nilfgaardian standing together?”_

_Geralt made an exasperated grunt._

_Jaskier grinned, “An Oxymoron.”_

_“That might just be your worst one yet,” Geralt scowled, visibly pained by the tenth ‘joke’ that evening._

_Jaskier could almost make out a slight smile forming on Geralt’s face in the firelight._

_“You love my humor.”_

_“That’s an overstatement.”_

_Jaskier laughed._

_After a few beats of silence, “What did you do before me?”_

_Geralt grunted again, “What do you mean?”_

_“At night. Doesn’t it get lonely out here?”_

_“No.”_

_“Liar. I would be losing my mind if I was alone here in the woods right now.”_

_“Sometimes I stay at inns.”_

_“Ahh, yes. Find some company in the ladies? I see how it is,” Jaskier chuckled as he picked with a stone he found under his knee and tossed it at the fire._

_Geralt, matching Jaskier’s actions, picked up a nearby twig and threw it at the flames._

_The larger man appeared sad after what the Bard said. Jaskier saw a twinge of hurt in Geralt’s eyes._

_“Sorry, I was just assumi—”_

_“I did. Sometimes. It feels… shameful,” Geralt replied, cutting off the Bard’s apology._

_“There’s no shame in wanting company, Geralt.” Jaskier picked up another stone, this time fidgeting it uncomfortably between his hands._

_“I like this better,” Geralt said looking up for the first time at Jaskier._

_Jaskier chuckled and smiled, “Well, then. I’m flattered.”_

_Geralt rolled his eyes, “I meant being out here. In nature.”_

_“Sureee, sureee Witcher, I believe you.”_

_“Jaskier.”_

_“What? I just got told my company is better than a bed maidens.”_

_“That’s not what I—” Geralt sounded flustered. Jaskier saw what looked like the beginning of a blush on the larger man’s cheeks._

_Jaskier wanted to point it out but decided Geralt had enough teasing for one night._

_After a few moments, Jaskier looked up “Geralt, I know what you mean.”_

_“Mmm,” Geralt was back to grunting instead of using his words._

_“I like this too,” Jaskier said._

_They sat there in companionable silence for the rest of that night before both nodding off to sleep._

Jaskier was interrupted by a man that had appeared at his side while he was lost in thought.

“You look like you’re about to slump over, friend,” the man said. 

Jaskier turned and faced him. 

The man looked about his age, blond hair, blue eyes. Charming. He had a warm demeanor, full of energy. Judging by his stained tunic, he looked to be a laborer of some kind. Maybe a farmer. 

“Rough day,” Jaskier replied. 

Hopefully the man didn’t notice the lute under under his stool. Jaskier was not in the mood for a performance tonight. 

“I can see that. Mind if I join you?” the man asked, eyeing the Bard up and down. 

Jaskier gestured to the open stool next to him. Great, he didn’t need company right now. 

“Kyron, by the way.” 

“Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.” 

“Nice to make your acquaintance. Why so sour this evening, friend?” 

Normally if someone called him ‘friend’ twice in a row minutes after meeting him for the first time, he’d roll his eyes and escape out of the conversation as fast as possible. 

However, today he was tired.. not to mention, he already lost a friend today. Maybe pushing everyone away is not in his best interests. 

“Well, my party left me to sleep through an important battle with a dragon, or so I thought, apparently the dragon was already dead, I guess. And then my travel companion told me to sod off.” 

“A dragon? You don’t seem like the dragon fighting type, no offense,” Kyron said as he gestured to the lute at under Jaskier’s stool. 

“I’m a Bard, you caught me,” Jaskier replied half-heartedly. 

“I was traveling with a Witcher. Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier added. 

Kyron’s eyes widened, looking a bit shocked. 

He then slapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder and laughed heartily, “Geralt of Rivia, huh? I’ve heard talk of your songs from all over Novigrad.” 

“Really?” Jaskier asked. Novigrad is one of the most populated regions, he and Geralt hadn’t even stepped foot in the city together. 

“Yeah, you’re pretty popular in the area. What an honor to be sitting next to you,” Kyron smiled and winked. 

Jaskier grinned down at his mead. He was definitely drunk. Very, very drunk. It was nice to know that his songs have traveled farther than he has. 

“Say, why don’t I get you a drink,” Kyron said, “I feel like I’m sitting with royalty, I can’t believe you’re the Bard I keep hearing about.” 

“Okay,” Jaskier smiled. One more drink. That’s all he will be able to handle. 

Just as Jaskier was waving the old man over for another drink, Kyron grabbed his hand roughly and lowered it to the counter. It caught Jaskier by surprise and he jumped. 

“No, no. I meant a real drink. I have a nice bottle of mead in my saddle bag outside. Come with me,” Kyron said. 

He pulled Jaskier from the stool. Jaskier barely had time to grab his lute with his other hand before being dragged outside of the tavern by his new friend. 

As Jaskier was pulled outside, he felt his head begin to pound. The room was spinning. Too drunk. Way too drunk. 

The chilly autumn night air hit him hard. He could immediately see his breath as he was pulled toward a horse hooked to a hay carriage. He was suddenly very aware of how hot his body felt compared to the night breeze. 

Kyron turned around and grinned at Jaskier who stood beside him. He dropped the hand that was holding Jaskier’s and balled it in a fist. 

“You fucking idiot.” 

All it took was one punch in the face to knock Jaskier unconscious. His body slumped to the ground along with his lute. He was then picked up by Kyron and another man that appeared. They threw him in the back of the hay carriage. 

**** 

Geralt filled a bucket with water from a nearby stream. He had been riding Roach all day through the fields to clear his head of the shit day he had. 

He’s really good at pushing people away. 

“But not you, Roach,” he said out loud as he held the bucket under Roach's nose so he can drink. 

It seems more and more these days that his horse is the only thing that he doesn’t push away. 

What Borch had said to him earlier stung. It hurt Yennefer too. 

Geralt saw the pain in her eyes as Borch told her that she will never regain her womb. 

He thought about what else Borch had said. 

**“And though you didn’t want to lose her, Geralt. You will.”**

It is for the best. Why keep people around if destiny does not will it? 

Geralt was getting fucking sick of destiny. 

Out of everything that has happened today, his biggest fuck up was hurting Jaskier. 

He let his temper get the best of him. It was days in the making. 

Accidentally calling dibs on a royal child. Nearly killing his travel companion and quite possibly the only friend he has ever kept for longer than a week. 

The things he said to Jaskier were unforgivable. 

It made his stomach twist. 

Watching Jaskier walk away hurt more than anything Borch could say to him. 

Geralt did not realize he cared so fucking much. 

The night was approaching and he was alone. 

He was lonely for the first time in a long time. 

And now Jaskier was somewhere out there. In the woods, maybe. Lost. Quite possibly scared. 

All because of him. 

Geralt tossed the bucket and mounted Roach. 

He was going to look for the Bard, even if it took all night. 

**** 


	2. The Vile Duke of the West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, I updated! 
> 
> So a few things: This chapter is darker than the last (tags will be changed appropriately, please check them out before reading). Again, I am unfamiliar with any canon other than The Witcher TV series, I'm slowly learning though so if you see references just know that I'm trying lol. Lastly, I will try to update frequently, I'm glad you are liking it so far :)
> 
> **Warning: This chapter contains brief non-con at the end and references sprinkled throughout.**

Jaskier woke up to a punch in the gut.

“Wakey wakey, Bard.”

Jaskier heard the dry, raspy voice close to his ear. It made him shudder. 

It wasn’t Kyron, it was someone else. 

Jaskier slowly opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. 

Castle? Royalty? No wait, a dungeon? Maybe the lower quarters of a castle? 

He saw dark stone walls surrounding them. There was a small window behind the two men, the light of the moon was shining through. It was still night outside.

What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

The stone ground beneath him was unforgiving to his knees as he tried to push himself up. The pain was too much (that and he was still a little tipsy) so he tumbled back down on the stones.

“Get up or you’re getting punched again,” this time he heard Kyron’s voice yelling at him. 

Jaskier spit out dried blood and saliva, coughing as he slowly sat up. 

Chains. They had him bound. Just great, he thought to himself.

“Why are you doing this?” Jaskier asked looking up at whoever was standing above him. 

The punch had blackened out one of his eyes and he felt the beginnings of a nasty hangover from the mead churn his stomach. 

“Tell us what you know about Geralt of Rivia.”

_Oh, fuck._

“I thought you heard my songs in Novigrad? If that was even true… then you know about as much as I do,” Jaskier spit again.

He’s lying, clearly he knows more about Geralt. He knows that they know he knows more. He’s just trying to see how long he can prolong whatever they are going to do to them. 

“No it is not true, no one cares about your awful fucking music. It’s the only way I could lure a stupid Bard such as yourself out of that Tavern. Stroke your cock a bit and then offer you more mead. And it worked.”

Well that stung a bit. Even in the midst of Jaskier being intimidated by these two men over his ex-friend, he was more hurt that Kyron lied to him about his music being played all over the lands. 

“It may have worked but you’re not getting more information out of me,” Jaskier said. He tried to puff his chest and straighten his shoulders out to look more dignified confident. 

Don’t let them see your fear, he thought to himself.

Kyron crouched down beside Jaskier and leaned in close to him, “Oh, you’re going to tell us everything you know, Bard.” 

Jaskier looked away. The fact that he is in serious danger had not quite fully hit him yet, but the realization was definitely fast approaching. 

If he told them about Geralt, they would kill Jaskier and probably find Geralt and kill him too.

If Jaskier didn’t say anything, they would eventually kill him once they figure out that he is useless. 

But in that scenario, Geralt would be safe from these pricks.

And here’s the thing. Jaskier left Geralt on the mountain. He had no fucking idea where the Witcher was going next. All he knows is that he has been looking for a girl in the woods.

Jaskier remembered that earlier that day he offered to head to the coast with Geralt to get away for awhile. Geralt did not seem interested. 

Just then, Jaskier thought he could hear waves crashing in the distance. 

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Spitfire Bluff. And we’ll be throwing you off the fucking bluff if you don’t tell us where your Witcher friend is,” the other man growled.

The coast, Jaskier chuckled. At least he made it to the coast like he wanted.

Jaskier pulled on his chains, “I’m not telling you shit.” 

He paused. Too confident, Jaskier thought to himself.

He then added, “I last saw him when we went to fight the dragon. I don’t even know where he was headed next.”

Kyron grinned, “So he left you to rot.”

“Well, if we’re being technical, I left him…”

“But he did tell you to ‘sod off’ didn’t he? He left you behind,” Kyron chuckled and kicked Jaskier in the side. 

Jaskier toppled over, coughing and moaning. 

“I remember you told me that at the Tavern tonight. Did he get sick of you, Bard? Couldn’t stand the sight of you anymore?” 

Kyron looked at the other man who was now sitting on a nearby empty table studying the lute that Jaskier brought with him.

“He’s not going to give us much, Barehorn” Kyron sighed. 

Jaskier groaned, “Why do you even care? He’s a Witcher. He does good for people. He fights monsters.”

Kyron ignored him. 

“Shall we throw him over the bluff? Make it quick?” Barehorn (I guess that’s his name) asked.

Kyron turned back to Jaskier on the ground, studying him.

“Fuck. Ednier wanted information. I thought the Bard was going to be our in,” Kyron said. 

“Why don’t we just give the Bard to Ednier? He is pretty. Ednier likes that,” Barehorn suggested.

“Woah woah woah, hold on. No,” Jaskier’s voice was raspy and he felt like shit, but that did not mean he couldn’t hear what they were implying. 

He’s heard stories of Ednier. He’s the vile Duke of the west. Jaskier had seen him at a couple royal gatherings. He watched the disgusting man grope the servants that were serving him from under the table before one of the other royals noticed and kindly stepped in. He’s heard stories about the man’s brutality of his slaves. If they were not royalty, they were just a vessel for him to abuse.

It all made sense now, Ednier’s castle was on the bluff. That’s where he is currently being held captive. 

_Fuck._

“Oh yeah? Care to share anything else, Bard?” Kyron grinned.

“I told you I don’t know anything!” Jaskier was rightly scared now. Ednier has held slaves captive for years before they took sick and died from neglect.

Kyron stepped on Jaskier's thigh. The young Bard grimaced, trying to tug himself free.

“Was the Witcher fucking you, Bard?”

“No, gods no!” Jaskier felt his muscles bruising under the man’s boot.

“Good, Ednier likes his new slaves ripe."

Jaskier shut his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.

Suddenly, the weight on his thigh left and he was yanked off the ground with his chains. 

Next thing he knew he was being dragged up a stone spiral staircase. 

Jaskier screamed and thrashed as best as he could but he was overpowered. 

No one was coming to look for him. 

No one knew where he was. 

This was his fate.

****

Geralt searched for days.

He searched the hills of White Orchard, along the plains of Stag, through the Buckskin thickets along the North Western regions. 

He had not used his voice in days.

The only times he spoke was when he talked to Roach and when he went through the nearby villages and visited the local Taverns asking if his Bard had played there recently. 

He was feeling hopeless until he stopped at a Tavern not far from the coast. He remembered Jaskier telling him to take him to the coast to get away from the madness of the hunt for a while. 

Geralt wished he had taken him there.

He wished a lot of things.

He wished he had not wasted his time obsessing over Yennefer, who thirsted for power even if it meant losing her own life. Geralt cannot entirely blame her for that, though. The kind of world they inhabited only rewarded those with the most power while the rest of the world struggled to get by. 

He wished he had not cast the Bard away.

He wished he could take back everything he said. He wished he would have appreciated the times he had with Jaskier.

The smaller man made the journeys worth it, not even the coin Geralt made slaying monsters could satisfy the emptiness he felt all the time.

But somehow Jaskier did. He filled that emptiness with warmth along with his unwavering admiration and loyalty to the Witcher. 

Geralt walked into the Tavern. Even during the day time, patrons filled almost all of the tables and chairs.

As he approached the serving counter, he heard some men playing a round of gwent behind him.

“A Witcher in my tavern? It’s been years,” the old man said from behind the counter, “What can I get you?”

“Nothing. Have you seen a Bard around here? Wearing red.”

The old man rolled his eyes, “You’re looking for that jackass? He was in here a few days ago. Maybe a week. I asked him to play for us and he told me to ‘sod off’ and drank close to a whole shipment worth of mead within a couple hours.”

Sounds like him, Geralt thought to himself. 

“Know where he was headed?”

“One of Ednier’s men came in and started sweet talking him, if I remember correctly. He damn near dragged the poor boy out of the side hatch over there,” the old man pointed to the door. 

Geralt punched the countertop, wood splintering everywhere. His fists were suddenly shaking. 

The old man jumped back and the tavern started to grow quiet.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Witcher? You’re going to have to pay for that!”

“You sound mighty fucking concerned for your countertop and not about your patron’s being dragged out of your tavern by a soldier. I thought this was a neutral location!”

Geralt grabbed the man by his tunic and pulled him over across the counter and pulled him close to his face, snarling. 

At this point the rest of the tavern was dead silent, a couple men stood up with their swords at the ready. 

The old man tried to push Geralt away, “It is neutral, but if you haven’t fucking noticed I’m a bit too fucking old to be protecting every single person that walks into this fucking place.”

Geralt growled and let go of the man, sending him flying back into a couple barrels of mead. He immediately turned on his heel and stalked out of the tavern, pushing past anyone that got in his way. 

Geralt held his fists tight ready to knock out anyone that challenged him. No one did. Even the men standing outside the tavern ran out of the way when they saw Geralt slam the door and walk to his horse. 

Geralt hoisted himself in the saddle and headed west to the Duke of Ednier’s castle. 

****

Next thing Jaskier knew, he was being thrown on the floor of Ednier’s throne room. 

As soon as he hit the floor, he tried to crawl away, screaming as loud as he could.

Barehorn forced his hand across Jaskier’s mouth to stop the screaming. Jaskier struggled to breathe with the man’s calloused fingers stopping the airflow through his mouth and nose. He tried to force himself to calm down.

“What have we here?” Ednier asked from his throne. 

Jaskier observed that it was just Ednier and two guards standing beside him. No throne for a Duchess. 

Makes sense, Jaskier thought. The stories of Ednier were commonly heard from all over, mainly because of how horrifying he was. 

It’s been told that at one point he owned a large garden maze outside of his castle where he would hunt down petty theives, rape them, and dismember them for sport.

He’s a sick man. No one dared to challenge his ‘practices’ due to stupid royal politics and his high status with Nilfgaard.

Kyron cleared his throat, “We found the Witcher’s Bard. He was not of much use to us so we wanted to gift him to you while we continue to hunt down Geralt of Rivia.”

Ednier stood from his throne and approached the young Bard.

Jaskier started to kick and thrash and scream into Barehorn’s hand again. 

“Not much use, you say?” Ednier replied. He appeared incredibly calm, completely contradictory of his disgusting reputation.

He was a large man. Middle aged, maybe younger. Almost as tall as Roach at the head. His build was hard to tell under what appeared to be at least three layers of robes. It was obvious that he was wearing some sort of hair piece to cover the baldness on top of his head. If Jaskier had not known where he was, he would have almost mistaken him for clergy. 

“Aye, again, we did not want you to grow impatient. We will find the Witcher,” Kyron said.

Ednier stroked his hand softly and slowly down Jaskier’s face, along his cheeks and under his chin. He smiled as Jaskier violently flinched away.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” Ednier said to the young Bard, “You must have heard of me.”

Kyron and Barehorn looked at each other somewhat uncomfortably. Jaskier remembers hearing that Ednier’s men tolerated him as their employer, but they were not always completely in agreement with his 'lifestyle'. It was like they were all brainwashed. 

“Leave him with me,” Ednier said after a few beats, “The rest of you may take your leave.”

Jaskier was dropped on the ground for what felt like the tenth time that evening. 

“You cowards,” Jaskier spit under his breath as Barehorn, Kyron, and the throne guards left the throne room. 

They knew. They knew what was going to happen to him. He saw the pitty in their eyes, even if it was for a fleeting second. 

Ednier walked over to Jaskier and pulled his leg chain free in order to use it as a leash. 

Ednier gestured for Jaskier to stand. Jaskier stared and looked up at him, too paralyzed to move. 

Ednier tugged at the now chain leash, “Either stand and walk like a dignified man to the stocks or I will drag you, Bard.”

Jaskier slowly stood up, it was the first time he had done so in hours. Everything hurt. He felt like a young fawn as he learned how to stand and walk again. 

There were a pair of stocks beside the throne, two cuffs at the feet, two cuffs for the hands, and one hole for the head. 

“Ever been placed in the stocks before?” Ednier asked. 

Jaskier shook his head.

“A young man like you? Never got into any trouble on your journeys?”

Jaskier glared at him, he wasn’t going to let him have this. The small talk with his captives was practically fore-play to him.

Ednier smiled at him knowingly. 

“Bend down and get yourself comfortable, it hurts less when you don’t fight it,” Ednier said as he gently guided Jaskier’s head and hands on the wood plank.

Something about putting himself in the stocks felt more demeaning than guards forcing him in them. 

Once Jaskier was bound completely, Ednier walked around the stocks to face him.

“You know why you’re being punished and put in the stocks, Bard?”

“Because you’re a vile, disgusting excuse for a man that has nothing better to do than torture people for no reason,” Jaskier said, trying his best to tilt his neck up and glare at the man in front of him.

The Duke laughed and stroked Jaskier’s chin before squeezing it taught until it bruised.

Jaskier tried to yank away as best as he could.

“Your being punished because I bet you know more about the Witcher than you have let on,” Ednier said, releasing Jaskier.

“Why do you care so fucking much?”

Ednier frowned, “He declined to help me rid my land of Leshen and now my land is inhabitable because of it. I cannot leave this castle, which is why I’m not out there looking for the prick myself.”

Leshen are terrifying creatures, they inhabit deforested land and do not leave until they kill the person responsible for the deforestation. They are sometimes called the ‘spirits of the woods’ and usually they have a good reason for their vengeful bloodlust. 

Ednier must have done something to piss them off.

“And what does this have to do with me exactly?” Jaskier asked.

Ednier leaned close to Jaskier’s face, practically whispering in his ear, “Maybe if I make you scream loud enough, he will come and look for you.”

"Please don't," Jaskier whispered, fear bubbling up in his chest.

Geralt has superwitcher hearing, but he is likely long gone slaying monsters somewhere on the other side of the continent at this point. 

Even if he did hear, Geralt would have no reason to come save him anymore.

He would die like this, a painful, humiliating death.

"Toss a coin to your Witcher, O' valley of plenty," Ednier hummed as he walked behind Jaskier and yanked his pants down. 

"You are very talented, Bard," Ednier said, he slowly dragged his hand across Jaskier's behind, nearly drawing blood with his long nails. "I have heard your songs before. You must really care for that Witcher to have so many songs honoring him."

"Please stop," Jaskier cried. He wasn't above begging, especially at this point. 

It only seemed to excite the Duke further, "I like a begging whore."

After a few moments of whimpering, Jaskier felt Ednier's cock impale him without any preparation or warning. 

Jaskier cried out, clenching the wood plank with his hands. 

After a few more moments, he blacked out. 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, I know, I ended this chapter at an awful spot. This will be the only time I describe explicit non-con. The rest of this fic will reference what happens the days Jaskier is with Ednier but it will not be as explicit. 
> 
> Chapter 3 will start with Geralt.


	3. All I See Is Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter yay! Again, I'm so happy you are all liking it so far :)  
> I think my schedule for this story is looking like a new chapter every couple days. 
> 
> **Warnings for this chapter: A bit of violence, gore, and references of non-con.**

Geralt tried his best to regain control of himself as he dug his heels into Roach, urging the mare to go faster. 

He was ready to take vengeance on anyone that even grazed Jaskier. 

He knew the stories of Duke Ednier… which is exactly why he told the wretched man to find someone else to kill the Leshens that overtook his lands. It was Ednier’s fault that the Leshens appeared in the first place. They are forest relics. He knew his land was spiritual yet he still destroyed it because he is power hungry like the rest of the royals, only he is especially vile. Probably wanted the wood to build a village that he can dominate over and harass. 

And Jaskier is with him, likely held captive.

Geralt had never felt like this before. There was an ache stabbing at his his chest, he could barely breathe without trembling. 

It had been days, according to the Tavern keeper. 

_He needs to be alive still, has to. He can’t be dead. I can’t lose him._

It’s my fault, Geralt thought to himself.

Ednier had it out for Geralt, he had known that for some time. The Duke had threatened to find him and kill him someday. 

_“Yeah, good luck with that,” Geralt said to Ednier. As Geralt walked out of the castle, the Duke pointed his finger and cursed blasphemy at the Witcher._

That was right before he met Jaskier nearly a decade ago. 

Before Jaskier, there was never another pawn in the game. Someone worth losing. Someone that was worth his protecting. 

It’s something that Geralt was not used to. 

And now that he had cast Jaskier out, they took him. He could be gone forever. 

As the castle came into view below the hill, Geralt heard something.

He could barely make it out. 

Geralt pulled a vial of violet liquid from his saddlebag and drank it. Witcher potion. 

Within a couple blinks all of his senses were enhanced. His dark pupils dilated til they covered all the white in his eyes. He could hear for miles. Smell everything.  
It was the first time he had ever used a potion before facing off with a human. Normally he reserved his potions for slaying monsters.

But Ednier is a monster, he said to himself.

He kills for pleasure. Takes whatever he wants. Hurts. Tortures. 

It was the blood he smelled first, and it was Jaskiers.

Then he heard the whimpers.

_“Please, just kill me.”_

Then he heard a crack of a whip.

A scream. 

A laugh.

Geralt growled as he galloped down the hill, every inch of him filling with rage. 

Guards stood in front of the large doors at the front of the castle.

Geralt watched as they manically drew their swords and lunged at him on horseback, yelling.

Geralt jumped off of Roach mid gallop, slicing one guards head off in one clean swipe of his sword. The next guard was stabbed in the chest.

All Geralt could see was bodies falling to the floor as he kicked through the door and into the castle. He let the sound of whimpers guide him through the halls until it led him up the stairs to the top floor of the castle.

Ednier’s living quarters.

He charged into the room, using his shoulder to break down the door.

The first thing he saw was Jaskier’s ripped royal red tunic and trousers discarded on the floor. 

The clothing trailed across the floor to Jaskier who was laid bare on the ground and covered in swollen, angry lashes.

Ednier still had the whip in his hand.

“Come to join us, Geralt of Rivia?” Ednier smiled calmly at Geralt’s intrusion.

He looked over at Jaskier, curling into a ball on the ground, tears freely flowing. He was barely able to process that Geralt was there.

“See Bard, I told you he will hear you if you scream loud enough,” Ednier shouted gleefully at Jaskier as he balled the whip in his hands slowly, “Tell him how you begged me for your punishments.”

Jaskier slowly looked up. Geralt watched the realization dawn on Jaskier that Geralt was really there to save him. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier said, his voice hoarse. 

Geralt made his way in front of Jaskier and created a physical barrier between the small Bard on the ground and Ednier now standing in the center of the room.

“Jaskier, close your eyes,” Geralt looked back at Jaskier. The Bard hid in his hands. It was a very childlike movement that made Geralt feel like he was getting continuously punched in the gut. Geralt felt like he was going to explode from adrenaline, fear, and rage. 

He didn’t want Jaskier to see what he was about to do.

Ednier tried to inch closer.

“One more step forward and I kill you right now,” Geralt growled.

Ednier raised his hands in fake mercy, grinning, “All you had to do was help me, Geralt. Maybe then I wouldn't have ruined your handsome Bard.”

“He had nothing to do with _this_!” Geralt shouted. He was surprised he was still talking to the Duke. Every fiber in his being wanted him dead already.

But that would be too easy, too quick. 

“I didn’t realize how special he was to you,” Ednier said, “Had I known, I would have used him as collateral much sooner.”

Ednier turned around and reached for a sword from his bed chamber wall, “Eye for an eye, Witcher. My land is ruined thanks to you. I have lost many men to the Leshen beasts roaming just outside of my chamber windows. You left me here to die. So in return, I had my men go out and hunt for you, force you to come back and help before killing you slowly. It was just my luck that my men found the Bard that sang so kindly about you, the mighty Geralt of Rivia.”

“You’re vile,” Geralt seethed, readying his sword. 

“It’s too bad he kept his mouth shut,” Ednier grinned, “He wouldn’t tell me a thing about you or your whereabouts. Too loyal for his own good. He kept his mouth so shut that I had to pry it open with my cock.” 

Blood sprayed everywhere.

Ednier’s sword hit the floor along with his now severed arm. 

Ednier cried out and stumbled back, falling to the ground. 

Geralt picked up the Duke by the collar of his tunic and pulled him towards his chamber window.

Below, Leshen wandered the yard. 

Geralt busted the window open with a kick, sending glass falling to the ground on the first floor. The Leshen started to shriek.

“NO!” Ednier begged and struggled against Geralt’s grasp but it was too late.

Geralt pushed him out of the window and watched him fall to the Earth with a thud. 

The Leshen, seeing him on the ground, quickly pounced on Ednier. They tore him apart, finally taking their vengeance for their destroyed homes.

“Is he dead?” a small voice cracked from behind Geralt.

_Jaskier._

Geralt approached Jaskier slowly, dropping to his knees in front of the small, broken Bard.

“Yes,” Geralt barely managed to say. He looked Jaskier over, already trying to assess his most serious wounds.

His eyes flashed from black back to their bright orange color.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispered, his eyes fluttering.

“No, no you’re not. Don’t be sorry,” Geralt said frantically. He went to hold Jaskier, trying to avoid the lash marks on his back and thighs. 

Jaskier flinched at the touch, his eyes scrunching shut. Geralt pushed back on his heels, giving Jaskier space. 

The Bard was clearly traumatized. It made Geralt want to kill Ednier all over again.

“Clothes first,” Jaskier said quietly, looking away from the Witcher. 

Geralt turned around and picked up Jaskier’s discarded clothing.

His Tunic and Trousers were completely ripped. His underclothes were ripped at the crotch seam with crusted dried blood.

Geralt winced, trying to hold back rage filled tears. Ednier tortured Jaskier because Jaskier, even after all of the awful things that were said to him, tried to save Geralt from this monster.

Geralt started shrugging off his armor one piece at a time. Once his metal was removed, he finally pulled off his Navy blue tunic and handed it to the Bard.

“Here,” Geralt said. He tried to clear his throat, hiding how horrified he was by everything.

Jaskier slowly took the Tunic and slipped it over his body carefully. The warm fabric was so large on the Bard that the tunic fell halfway above the knee on him. Any other time Geralt would have made a teasing comment on how small the Bard was, watching him get all flustered and huffy. Instead, he offered Jaskier his hand.

“Can I pick you up, Jaskier? Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Jaskier sounded so small.

Geralt lifted the Bard, cradling him in his arms.

Geralt carried Jaskier down the stairs and made his way out of the castle. Most of the remaining guards stood outside, surrounding what was left of Ednier. 

Geralt and Jaskier passed some guards through the halls. They did not even bother attacking, too lost now that their Duke was dead. They just stood and stared at The Witcher and Bard as they passed by. 

Killing the Duke will probably cost Geralt a lot of future hardship. He will likely be cast out from the surrounding regions. He will be ostracized by others more than ever before.

He did not care. He’d throw all of his coin in the Yaruga River if it meant that Jaskier would be okay after all of this.

Geralt carried Jaskier to Roach, who was patiently waiting outside of the castle gates. 

“I’m going to need you to stand while I mount Roach, can you hold onto her neck and stand for me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier looked up at him and nodded.

As soon as Jaskier’s feet hit the grass, he stumbled into Roach and held on for dear life. Roach turned her head and knickered at him.

After Geralt hoisted himself in the saddle, he reached out for Jaskier’s hand to pull him onto the horse. 

“I don’t think I can sit like that,” Jaskier stared at the saddle. The Bard refused to meet his eyes.

“I’ll hold you, like I did just now.”

“You’ll get tired.”

“Jaskier, please,” Geralt pleaded. He can see the apprehension in his eyes as if he was silently asking _Why are you bothering to help me? You made it clear how you felt._

Jaskier leaned into Roach and gave her a kiss on the neck before extending his arms for Geralt to pull him up.

Geralt held him in his lap, grasping the reins in his left hand.

He nudged Roach into a walk, careful not to hurt or startle Jaskier. 

“Where are we going?” Jaskier breathed quietly into the Witcher’s neck. He sounded tired.

“We need to get you to a healer, Jask,” Geralt said, looking down at Jaskier. 

Jaskier immediately went stiff.

“No! Please, no,” he said, breath quickening. Geralt could feel his heart race. 

“Why? You can barely stand, Jaskier!” Geralt felt himself pleading again. 

There was a moment of silence between the two.

“I’d rather die than have someone touch me ever again,” Jaskier whispered. 

Geralt paused.

“Jaskier, I’m touching you right now.”

Jaskier huffed, “You don’t count, jackass.”

Geralt sighed, “Fine, we won’t take you to a healer, but please let me take care of you.”

Jaskier paused.

“Why? So you can leave me again?”

"That... is fair," Geralt said sadly. He deserved this. However, he was hoping to have this conversation after making sure that Jaskier wasn't going to bleed out and die on his horse.

"So do it then."

"No."

"Better now than later."

"Jaskier, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said on the mountain."

"It seemed like it, you growled at me."

"I don't growl."

"Bullshit."

"Jaskier!"

"You made it perfectly clear you don't care about me."

"Jaskier, just let me fucking finish. What I said up there on the mountain was awful and I'm sorry. I've never said sorry before and... I'm trying. And I know I owe you a lot of _I'm sorrys_ at this point, I know I do. Everything that happened to you is because of me and I will never forgive myself for that. Just know that I didn't come to save your ass because I felt like I owed you. As soon as you walked away after I yelled at you, I knew I made a huge mistake. So I looked for you. I searched around the region for days. I didn't eat, I couldn't sleep. By the luck of the Gods I stumbled across a Tavern where a man recognized my description of you and told me what happened to you. That's when I came and found you. Don't tell me that I don't care about you, because I care about you more than I ever cared about anything ever before. And I'm not letting you out of my fucking site ever again if I can help it. You are so important to me, Jaskier. I know you might not believe it and I don't blame you, but I'm going to do everything I can to prove that to you if you let me. Just, please, don't leave."

Geralt paused, he hadn't realized he was gripping the Bard so tightly. He mumbled another 'sorry' and loosened his hold on him.

Jaskier was silent for what felt like years.

Finally, "Oh."

"Oh?" Geralt asked. 

Jaskier smiled up at the Witcher before losing consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bard brings out the human in Geralt. The problem is Geralt is so emotionally stunted that he doesnt quite know how to handle situations like this yet. 
> 
> Next chapter will be Jaskier's perspective. :)


	4. All I see is him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you for being patient with me. I had the week off so I spent it at Disney World with my best friend :)
> 
> I am back with a new chapter. This one is short but I plan to post a longer one here soon. 
> 
> **Warnings: Mentions of non-con**

Jaskier came to on a blanket next to the bonfire Geralt made for them. 

A bright November Wolf Moon dangled well over the night sky, making it just before the new day. 

Jaskier shot up from the ground in a panic, breathing heavily and frantically surveying the camp for The Witcher. 

Geralt, who had been resting on a log across from him, was at Jaskier’s side in seconds.

“Where? Where are we?” Jaskier panted.

“Nearby Leopard Springs. Made camp here in the underbrush, didn’t want to be seen by other travelers,” Geralt sounded tired, he had likely been resting his eyes before Jaskier woke up. 

“Good plan,” Jaskier said. 

Jaskier was suddenly aware of the pain he felt all over his body. Welts. Scrapes. Dried blood. Soreness. Tenderness, possible infection. His jaw felt damn near unhinged and bruised. He felt internal pain, something he had never quite felt before. 

“Jask…” Geralt started. The Witcher appeared to have noticed Jaskier wince with each movement, each breath. 

“Do you remember what happened?”

_Happened, Jaskier thought. What happened._

_Oh._

_The mountain. The tavern. Kyron. The basement. The throne room. Duke Ednier. The stocks. His bed. The rack…_

It all came back to Jaskier. He thought it was all a nightmare, an elaborate tale about a different person in a different land. But it was him. 

More importantly than all of those dark memories and feelings of the past week was the flooding feeling of relief and warmth he felt as he heard the thud of Ednier's body hit the ground and the sound of Geralt’s heart against his ear as they rode away from that awful castle in the middle of the region

Jaskier looked up at Geralt. His eyes looked far away. 

“Yes.”

Before Geralt could respond, Jaskier added, “You saved me.”

Geralt grunted, looking down. 

“What?” 

Geralt kept his eyes on the ground, “It’s my fault. They would not have cared about you had we not traveled together. I should have killed him when he tried to hire me a year ago.”

“It would not have been very diplomatic of you to kill a Duke just because you did not like him,” Jaskier said. It’s true. 

“It would have saved you a lot of pain and suffering, along with others,” Geralt finally met Jaskier’s eyes. 

Had the subject matter been any lighter, Jaskier would have made a comment about Geralt looking mildly like a kicked pup. 

Instead, he shut The Witcher up. “Geralt, you did not know this would happen. You did not know he would send his men for me. I will not have you beat yourself up over this, especially when I’m the beat up one.”

Geralt’s eyes widened with shock at Jaskier for a moment before he returned to a sad brooding stare at the ground.

They sat their in silence for a couple minutes, looking into the large fire. 

Finally, Jaskier spoke up again. “So, you care about me.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier, "You remember us talking before you passed out.”

Jaskier smiled, “I do. You said you’re going to prove to me how much you care about me.”

“I mean it.” Geralt sat up straighter, as if the more confident he looked the more sincere he was. It was kind of endearing.

“Well then, on a similar note, I will do my best not to shovel more shit on you or whatever you implied on that treacherous mountain,” Jaskier said, the smile hadn’t left.

In response, Geralt smiled for the first time that night, hell, the first in weeks.

They sat in comfortable silence. It reminded him of before all of _this_. The small conversations in front of a nice fire followed by a peaceful night.

The fire crackled quietly. While Jaskier loved these still evenings, he was still the first to all always break the silence.

“What’s next, Witcher?” Jaskier.

Geralt paused before responding.

“I thought we would take to the coast. Find what pleases you, as you had suggested."

“That sounds like a dream,” Jaskier pretended to swoon.

“And more importantly, heal you up,” Geralt added. 

Jaskier frowned, “I’ve been trying to ignore the fact that I feel like death right now, you just reminded me.”

Geralt reached out to Jaskier, silently asking to look over his wounds. 

Jaskier nodded.

Geralt sat back on his heels beside the Bard.

“Lie down for me,” Geralt lowered his voice. He was still wearing his undershirt. 

Jaskier was still in Geralt’s tunic. Geralt grabbed his blanket on a nearby log. He pulled the blanket up to Jaskier’s waist to shield his lower body from the night chill. 

Geralt removed his leather gloves and ran his warm hands up and down Jaskier’s arms slowly, taking mental notes on each bruise and scrape on his body. 

Jaskier was rested on his side, giving room for Geralt to look at his exposed back if need be.

Geralt took his time noting each one of Jaskier’s injuries.

His arms and face were luckily all superficial injuries (minus the soreness in Jaskier’s jaw that he still did not feel comfortable enough to reveal to Geralt in this moment).

“Can I lift the Tunic?” Geralt asked. 

“Yes,” Jaskier nearly whispered. The night around them was quiet as if the world forgot them.

Geralt softly lifted the dark blue cloth, revealing Jaskier’s lower back. 

Geralt immediately saw the dark handprint bruises near the curve of Jaskier’s ass. 

Something primal felt like it was going to erupt in Geralt’s chest. Duke Ednier did his best to leave a lasting mark on the Bard. Geralt was determined to help erase it.

Jaskier could feel Geralt’s eyes on him. He could feel his eyes witnessing his welted, bloody back. Jaskier was unaware of the handprints on his rear, but he assumed that Geralt was aware of the intrusion Jaskier faced in that particular location. 

If Jaskier was being honest with himself, he had dreamed of a moment similar to this. Jaskier spread across a blanket nearly naked with a large, territorial Geralt above him sliding his hands up and down his body. 

Instead, Jaskier wanted to crawl out of his skin like a crab in need of a new home. He didn’t want to be in his body. 

After lifting the tunic, Geralt became painfully aware of the nauseating smell of musk that emanated off the Bard. It was Ednier. It was his scent along remnants of his seed soured on and in Jaskier. 

Geralt ran his hand over Jaskier’s lower back, grazing over a particularly angry looking whip welt. 

It was all too much for Jaskier, he felt the tears falling before realizing what was even happening. 

Geralt immediately drew his hand away from the Bard, silently swearing to himself.

“I didn’t mean to—” Geralt started. 

Jaskier tearfully looked up at Geralt and met his eyes, “Please don’t let go of me.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered, overwhelmed by the mixed feelings of anger, sadness, fear, and a strong need to protect. 

He wanted so much to protect Jaskier from anyone and anything that will ever even try to lay their hands on him. But up until now he did not know how to communicate that, how to say that without words. More importantly, he did not want to overwhelm the Bard by explaining those feelings to him.

In reality, Geralt never wants to let Jaskier go, the soft touches were a reminder that he was still there. He was not gone. He was alive. 

To hear Jaskier say that he doesn’t want Geralt to let him go simultaneously relieved the Witcher and hurt something that touched him deeply in his soul. 

Jaskier, the man that is constantly getting chased out of royal chambers by angry husbands, is asking Geralt to not let him go because he wants to remember what positive, safe touch feels like again. 

Geralt positioned himself on the ground beside Jaskier, facing him. 

The Witcher reached out and slowly mimicked his earlier movement of softly grazing his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm. He pulled the blanked up, covering them both up to their shoulders.

“Thank you,” Jaskier nearly whispered.

“No, thank you,” Geralt said, and he meant it.

_Thank you for forgiving me and coming back to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, short chapter. Next one will be longer, promise!
> 
> Up next will be mix of both perspectives.


	5. Exposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, I decided to split this chapter so if it seems like it ends abruptly just know that I am posting the other half soon! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and feedback! It really makes my day and I plan to reply to all of you so again, thank you! <3
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of non-con.

Jaskier was the first to wake up early the next morning. 

The bard felt a weight wrapped around his waist. It would have definitely sent him into a panic if he had not looked down and seen that it was Geralt’s arm wrapped around him. He easily recognized The Witcher's calloused fingers resting on his belly under the tunic. 

Jaskier slowly and delicately lifted his own hand and rested it on top of Geralts. 

He had dreamed about this before. He had wanted this since he he first started travelling with The Witcher. 

Jaskier had always fancied women. He found himself attracted to men as well, mostly from afar. 

He had only ever laid with women as well. He kissed a man once on a dare (likely over a game of gwent), but he had never really had any real experiences in the sexual realm with them before. 

When he met Geralt, however, the desire to lay with a man almost immediately occurred to him. Not just any man either. It had to be a large, brooding man. Yes, with peppery white long hair to pull and fuzzy like a bear in the chest and stomach. Someone that could easily kick his ass, that was Jaskier’s type for sure. Orange eyes? Yes. A man that slays monsters and goes on high stake adventures? Of course. 

Geralt. He wanted Geralt. 

It wasn’t even the looks that made Jaskier decide, ‘this is it, this is the one.’ 

Geralt cared. He remembers the first time they met in the tavern not far from Jaskier’s old stomping grounds. 

Stale bread was being thrown at him from all directions. He was being heckled and booed by everyone after his newest debut song. Even the bar keeper that hired him threw a loaf at him.

Jaskier looked out into the angry crowd of nasty, hateful faces to see one face in the back corner looking as neutral as ever. What was he thinking? Jaskier was desperate to know. 

The man watched as Jaskier stumbled across the tavern to his booth. Jaskier’s eyes were fixated and curious on who he almost immediately identified as a Witcher. 

_“I know who you are. You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Called it!”_

Geralt was not exactly on board with Jaskier following him incessantly, as evidenced by the bigger man walking away constantly and barely speaking to him for the first couple weeks. 

Which is fair. Jaskier did technically invite himself to be The Witcher’s walking talking advertisement.

But it was too late. Jaskier was captivated. Entranced. Enchanted. 

Jaskier will admit he has a tendency to fall for people hard and fast, but Geralt was something different.

He soon became the sun and moon and stars all combined, orbiting a world that Jaskier was desperate to live in. 

While most of the time Geralt is a grumpy, self-loathing monster slayer, there are times where he is not. 

Geralt tipped Jaskier a coin on the table the day they met (Jaskier still may or may not keep it in his leather bag, the one of few coin that he has not frivolously wasted on fine clothes, wine, and other luxuries).

It has always been Geralt’s first instinct to pull his sword anytime Jaskier calls his name with even the smallest ounce of concern in his voice. 

The first couple nights after he joined Geralt on his adventures, The Witcher left the bedding for the bard to use while he slept on the ground against a log even after Jaskier continuously insisted that he preferred the ground (which was definitely a lie).

Geralt talked to him. A lot. Which is technically not a whole lot when compared to the average person. Honestly, at first Jaskier was constantly afraid that he had made a horrible mistake by joining The Witcher because the man barely ever talked to him. But it turns out, Geralt talks way more with Jaskier than he does with any other person, species, or whatever. He noticed that when the pair had joined Borch's party to the top of the mountain to slay the dragon. Geralt was a man of few words until the end of the night when it was just him and Jaskier alone to banter with each other in the firelight. 

Most importantly, Geralt saved him. 

“Geralt?”

The soft, sleeping breaths behind him stopped. 

Geralt, noticing where his arm and hand rested over Jaskier, quickly shot up from their shared bedding. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Jaskier turned over to face Geralt and smiled, “No it’s fine. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Geralt looked around, taking in their surroundings. He barely remembered falling asleep last night. 

“I was holding you,” Geralt said quietly. 

His groggy, morning voice somehow managed to sound even deeper than his normal voice. It sent shivers up Jaskier’s spine. 

“For the last time, you daft Witcher, I don’t mind when it’s you,” Jaskier nearly rolled his eyes. 

The bard sat up slowly, careful not to stress any of his sore muscles and healing wounds. 

Geralt noticed but did not comment.

“Why, exactly?” Geralt said instead. 

Jaskier looked the man up and down, deciding on how he wanted to answer that question without revealing how he just spent the last ten minutes thinking about why he was so attracted to him. 

“Because I trust you. And because, well, you have already seen me in a compromising position at this point so who cares. I’m currently lying beneath you with nothing but a tunic on, and we’ve been traveling with each other for a while now and you have yet to force me into bed with you so I’m pretty comfortable with you doing whatever you want to me.”

_Okay, so maybe that was revealing a lot._

Geralt silently stared at the smaller man for well over a minute before replying.

“Okay.”

Gods, Jaskier thought to himself, The Witcher still does not think he’s been forgiven, does he? 

“Geralt,” he started, “You realize none of this—” he gestured at his body with his hand, “is your fault at all, right?”

Geralt grunted.

“Oh for the love of,” Jaskier actually rolled his eyes this time. He reached over and pulled The Witcher’s face towards his until they were centimeters apart.

“You could not have stopped this. I was very annoying before all of this happened, I’m surprised you didn’t just chuck me off the mountain after that disastrous conversation between you, Jennifer or Yennifer or whatever the fuck her name is, and Borch. I would have done it. I would have chucked me off the mountain. But you didn’t. And I’m thankful for that, honestly. The only reason the Duke’s men even found me was because I was running my mouth about how great I am hanging out with a Witcher. It was just unlucky chance, Geralt. Unlucky chance. You could not have done anything except exactly what you did. You looked for me and found me and saved me and now I’m alive here with you, now if you could stop looking like someone stepped on your dog I would really—”

Geralt leaned in and kissed Jaskier softly before pulling away slowly.

**Oh. OH.**

Jaskier looked like he had seen a horse juggle apples. His eyes were wide and staring intensely at The Witcher in front of him.

“You’re not annoying,” Geralt said as he stood up. He reached a hand out to Jaskier who was still dumbstruck and sitting on their bedding, “Come on, let’s clean you up.”

Jaskier nodded allowed himself to be pulled up by Geralt. 

Geralt, guiding Jaskier beside him, followed the sound of water to a nearby stream.

**** 

The man needs some clothes, Geralt thought as he watched Jaskier pull the large navy blue tunic as low as he could below his hips as he knelt down in front of the stream. 

He watched as Jaskier cupped his hands and dipped them into the shallow stream, unceremoniously splashing the water into his face.

Geralt was still in a state of shock over what he had done just minutes earlier.

He kissed the bard. 

He had not planned it. He did not even realize what he was doing until he leaned forward and felt the man’s soft lips brush against his, curling slightly with surprise. 

Geralt has never been good with words.

He did not quite know how to respond to what Jaskier said to him. Geralt’s clients had to have at least the smallest inkling of trust in him when asking (begging usually) for him to slay the local creature wreaking havoc in their village. But to have a person’s full trust, even when Geralt was nothing but contrarian and borderline insulting to Jaskier practically non stop ever since they met? That level of trust was unheard of in Geralt’s world.

'Do whatever you want to me'

To have someone say they have _that_ level of trust in him, it threw The Witcher off guard. Completely off balance. 

It felt a bit guilty to admit this, but Geralt felt a wave of relief course through his veins when Jaskier ensured him that he did not blame The Witcher for what has happened to him (no matter how much Geralt still wants to take all blame because blaming himself for being an emotionless idiot feels a lot better than acknowledging that evil people like Duke Ednier exist and that life happens and hurts people for no reason). 

Geralt leaned in and kissed Jaskier because _it just made sense_. It made so much fucking sense. Of course it did. 

For months, Geralt has blamed the fluttering of his heart and stomach on bad meat or stale bread. Maybe both at the same time. He blamed the wind for the chills that brought his arm hairs to a stand. He blamed the firelight for producing the most magnificent glint in the bard’s eyes as they both mindlessly talked themselves to sleep during the evenings when the world had quieted down. 

The pang in his chest when he saw Jaskier arching his back in pain on the hard floor of Duke Ednier’s chambers brought to life an animal in which Geralt had never felt in himself before. Never before had he so quickly wished to end someone so vile and disgusting.

The sweeping realization that Jaskier meant something more to him than just a travel companion filling the silence of his journeys hit him in more ways than one.

Jaskier is so much more. 

Geralt knelt down beside the bard and the stream. 

“We need to find you some clothes,” Geralt said. _You’re cold and I care about you and I want you to feel safe and comfortable around me._

“And a lute,” Jaskier replied as he splashed water on his neck just above where the tunic met his skin. He was trying to see how long he could last before having to remove the only thing keeping him even remotely covered. 

Geralt hummed in agreement.

“He let me play it one last time at least,” Jaskier said quietly, looking down. 

Geralt looked at the bard.

“He tried to smash it over my back,” Jaskier continued, he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Eventually he gave up when he realized my lute was stronger than he thought. He threw it into the fire right in front of me.”

Geralt, almost reflexively, took Jaskier’s hand in his.

“Sad to see it gone, you know? That’s the second lute I’ve lost this year,” Jaskier didn’t realize how emotional this was going to make him. He slowly felt tears begin to blur his vision.

“We will get you another lute, I promise,” Geralt said, squeezing the bard’s hand. 

There was a silence that fell over the two. All that could be heard was the stream and Roach grazing somewhere behind them. 

Jaskier was the first to break the silence.

“I never thought someone could be so cruel,” Jaskier nearly spit. The tears that glassed his eyes began to fall freely now. He was shaking in Geralt’s hand. 

“Jaskier.” 

Helplessness. A feeling full of rage and horror and guilt made its way into Geralt’s chest for what felt like the hundredth time since yesterday. 

“And it’s funny because you know what bothers me the most out of all of this?” Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand to try and stop the trembling, “It bothers me that he was my first _experience_ with another man. Isn’t that fucked?”

Geralt nearly flinched away from Jaskier, it pain him hearing the bard sound so broken, so angry. 

The revelation from Jaskier made Geralt want to finish what he had started and go back and destroy everything, including the castle and what was left of the cowardice soldiers that stood by and allowed such horror. 

He did not think what Jaskier said would affect him in such a way, but it had. Now all he wants is a reckoning… and for his bard to smile again. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispered, “I just can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Geralt never knows what to say. So instead he pulled the bard into his arms and held him in the tightest embrace he could manage while avoiding hurting the man further. 

The fact that Jaskier had never laid with a man before, making the Duke’s torture even more horrifying… it made Geralt sick to his stomach. 

Did Jaskier even want to kiss Geralt after what he had been through? The thought had not even crossed his mind. How stupid was he?

“I should not have done what I did earlier, that was selfish,” Geralt muffled into Jaskier’s neck in an embrace. 

Jaskier pulled away and looked Geralt up and down before pulling the Witcher in again and kissing him like Geralt had earlier.

Geralt made a surprised huffing sound through his nostrils. He could feel the wetness of Jaskier’s cheeks on his. 

After the kiss, Jaskier stared into Geralt’s eyes with a kind of affection Geralt had never seen before.

“Not selfish,” Jaskier said. 

“I will do everything I can to make you safe with me,” Geralt said. It felt so uncomfortable being so vulnerable with someone. But he needed this. So did his bard.

“I already feel safe with you.”

“We will take this slow is what I’m trying to say,” Geralt pulled Jaskier back to him. Words.

“What is _this_?” Jaskier asked. He already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Geralt say it.

Geralt saw right through the bard, so instead he worked up his bravery and leaned forward to kiss the bard again. 

_"This.”_

Another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit more angst to come along with much more fluff. I love fluff and I really love how these two are evolving in this story. I'll post again tomorrow, I just needed more time to edit and I really wanted to post something tonight. See you soon! (EDIT: Hi, sorry it's taking a bit longer to update, will be back within the next couple days!)


	6. Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive. Totally should not have said I was going to post the next day when it was also the first day of my new job... so here we are a week later. On the plus side, I'm officially a mental health therapist! Woooo!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: references to previous non-con, public humiliation regarding non-con (?)

Bathing in the stream felt incredibly vulnerable.

The best way Jaskier could describe his body, how it felt, was _used._

“Something borrowed, something blue,” Jaskier chuckled to himself as he pulled down Geralt’s blue tunic to keep his behind covered while kneeling in front of the water.

Jaskier felt like he was caught between two choices of how to deal with everything.

Talk about it, shed his walls and let Geralt in…. or…. act like everything was okay. Nothing happened.

But it did happen, and Jaskier quickly found himself feeling like the latter of the two choices was difficult to achieve especially when he spends 100% of his time with a species of man capable of sensing damn near everything (which is not ideal for hiding his shame).

Then Geralt kissed him. More than once. Told him it was going to be okay. Things were going to be okay.

_“We will take this slow”_

This.

This.

What is _this_?

Another kiss.

Jaskier almost collapsed right then and there.

It was the first time Geralt had ever shared that he perhaps wanting something more than just a travel companion with the bard.

And it was everything for Jaskier.

After Geralt kissed the bard, Jaskier stupidly stumbled forward into the water soaking himself and jamming his hands in the rocks at the bottom of the shallow stream.

“Ow,” Jaskier said as he scrambled to pull himself up. Geralt chuckled grabbed hold of the bard under his shoulders and lifted him as if he were as light as a child’s doll.

While impressive, Jaskier was now more wet than he had planned to be. He cursed himself for stumbling like a damsel after receiving the most tender, caring kiss that has ever graced his lips.

“Thanks,” he mumbled as he attempted to squeeze the tunic dry.

Geralt eyed the now drenched bard and looked at him with the warmest stare, the same look that he gave Jaskier after he saved his ass from getting kicked by a royal at Queen Calanthe’s castle.

Slight exasperation mixed with fondness.

“Let’s go to a nearby village and find you some clothing,” Geralt said as he looked somewhere between Jaskier and Roach. He was deciding whether or not he had another spare tunic to spare the bard until he could find him something that will actually fit him.

Then Jaskier remembered.

“The Tavern,” Jaskier said, “I left my bag in one of the rooms. I was planning on sleeping at the inn that night. It’ll have most of my clothes. Some extra lute strings and some food as well.”

“That will be a decent start,” Jaskier added, “That way I don’t have to start over, you know?”

“Hmmm,” Geralt hummed in agreement.

“Where did we make camp, exactly?” Jaskier asked.

“Southeast,” Geralt responded. He turned and headed back to Roach, tightening the girth of the saddle in preparation to ride.

Jaskier made a face as he walked beside the Witcher back to camp. _Like I know what 'southeast' means_ Jaskier said to himself. The water on his skin made the forest air around him feel like a winter morning when it was still early autumn.

Geralt could sense the bard starting to chill. He grabbed a blanket from his bedding pack and handed it to Jaskier.

Jaskier silently thanked him with a nod as he threw the blanket around himself.

Geralt looked like he was about to push himself up into the saddle. Instead, he paused.

“How are you feeling?” Geralt turned around and looked at Jaskier seriously.

Jaskier was slightly taken aback by the question, he hasn’t gotten used to this new level to them where they are vocally concerned about each other.

“I’m…. alive,” Jaskier said.

He wasn’t wrong. Unless of course he really is dead and this is some sort of death fever dream he’s having.

Or heaven, maybe he’s in heaven. To be honest, the fact that Geralt had kissed him only moments earlier really has him second guessing if everything is real.

“Are you okay with doing this?”

“Going back to that taven? Yes, I can do that. Getting on Roach, however…” Jaskier said. He thought about the way he was cradled by Geralt in the saddle yesterday.

As much as he enjoyed being carried off into the sunset by his handsome Witcher, he wished he wasn’t in so much pain still.

He had been doing his best to minimize how he felt. Whether or not he was doing that subconsciously was still unknown.

Every time he felt a torn muscle stretch too far, feel a wound tear, he would straighten his back and clench his teeth until he was okay again.

He didn’t want Geralt to think that he needed to see a doctor or a mage or anyone else. He didn’t want the foreign touches from strangers all over him.

Geralt mounted Roach and offered his hand to Jaskier. Once Jaskier was in the saddle cradled between Geralt and Roach’s neck (similar to yesterday), Geralt nudged Roach toward the direction of the Tavern in the neutral region.

****

It only took them a couple hours to find the Tavern where Jaskier had sulked off to less than two weeks earlier.

The pair dismounted and tied up Roach to a nearby fence before making their way to the entrance of the old building.

As soon as they had walked in, the patrons’ voices quieted down as they watched the large white haired Witcher and the small, slender bard wrapped in a blanket make their way to the innkeeper at the counter.

If Jaskier was being honest, it did feel uncomfortable being back inside of there. He had seldom been to this particular tavern before. He glanced at the stool he had sat on in front of the counter the night he was taken.

“Aye,” the woman said. Jaskier recognized the woman from that night. She had given Jaskier a room for cheap.

Geralt looked over at Jaskier to see if he planned on doing the talking. Jaskier froze. Of course right at this very moment his brain decides to malfunction.

Geralt turned back to the woman, “Would you happen to know where we can find a sack of clothing that was left in a room here recently?”

“Maybe. Name your price,” the woman said smiling up at Geralt. She was a middle aged woman, red hair, lots of moles. Jaskier remembered her having a somewhat similar attitude the night he was here.

“It’s my belongings,” Jaskier’s voice finally decided to work.

The woman broke the staring contest that she was apparently having with The Witcher and looked at Jaskier. He watcher her eyes assess him until the look of realization dawned on her face.

“Oh! I remember you. You bought a room and didn’t stay. You walked off with that handsome young man.”

Geralt both felt and saw Jaskier visibly tense up beside him. The Witcher instinctively reached out and touched him, his fingers resting on the small of his back.

“We are hoping to get his belongings back,” Geralt seethed through his teeth. The woman seemed oblivious to Geralt’s anger, either that or she didn’t care.  
“Hmmm, should be in one of the back rooms. Couple more days and we would’ve sold it, you know? We can’t be holding on to people’s stuff while they're coming and going as they please,” the woman squinted at the two of them.

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He could feel the rage radiating off of Geralt so he decided it was his turn to do the talking, “mind if I use a room to change?”

The woman looked at the blanket still wrapped around Jaskier and nodded while looking perplexed as if she just realized he wearing nothing but a large buckskin blanket.

“Great, let’s go Geralt.”

As they walked away, Geralt mumbled “I don't like her.”

“Really? Could hardly tell,” Jaskier said sarcastically.

Geralt hummed in response.

“Let me grab my clothes and change.”

“I’ll get Roach ready,” Geralt said as he separated from Jaskier and made his way back to the entrance.

Jaskier grinned as he turned o he heels and walked toward the back of the inn to grab what he hopes is all of his belongings together and undisturbed.

Sure enough, his sack of belongings were sitting in a spare room the woman described.

Jaskier slid into an unoccupied room and removed Geralt’s tunic, replacing it with his mint colored tunic and pant set (finally, some damn pants…).

Once changed, Jaskier finished buttoning up his shirt with the large sack over his shoulder.

As he walked down the hall, he noticed that every few feet a paper notice was nailed to the mud walls.

**Wanted:**  
**Duke Ednier’s Murderer**  
**Geralt of Rivia**  
**Reward: One Thousand Crowns**

Fuck.

"GERALT!!"

Suddenly, Jaskier heard screaming and yelling.

Jaskier bolted down the hall and out of the inn until he came around the corner to the front of the Tavern where he prayed he would find Geralt and Roach waiting for him.

Sure enough, Roach and Geralt were there.... along with a growing angry mob of people and drawn swords.

"You killed the Duke, you should be punished!" one man yelled.

"Monster!"

A woman shouted, "blood for blood! Shed it!"

Jaskier slowly approached Geralt through the angry crowd.

Geralt drew his sword at the crowd, "You don't even know who you're protecting here. He was the monster!"

When it came to civilians, Geralt normally drew his sword as an intimidation tactic. This time, however, Jaskier was not so sure about that.

"You think you are higher up than a royal?" one angry man shouted.

"Higher than a royal that rapes and tortures his people," Geralt gritted back at the crowd.

Jaskier was at Geralt's side now, facing the angry crowd.

"Prove it!"

Geralt looked at Jaskier, the bard could see the quiet panic in his eyes.

Jaskier looked at Geralt and then at the crowd and then at Geralt again.

There's no way they're are about to fight off two dozen villagers.

"It was me."

"Jaskier..." Geralt hissed quietly.

"His men kidnapped me from this Tavern and took me to his castle and _tortured_ me," Jaskier trembled as he spoke.

"That's horse shit," a woman laughed.

Jaskier could hear a couple other comments from the crowd, including "He's protecting the monster", "Duke Ednier wouldn't do that", and "Liar!"

Jaskier was gutted. It was one thing to get attacked like he did, another to publicly announce to strangers that he was raped, but to be told he was lying? To be shown that no one cared? It was devastating.

Geralt looked absolutely distraught. He clenched the sword's hilt tighter in his hand.

Jaskier saw and he reached for it, grazing Geralt's hand in the process.

"Don't do it," Jaskier whispered, "It's not worth it. Let's make a run for it." 

At first Jaskier didn't think Geralt would snap out of it, that perhaps he might kill a bunch of strangers.

The next moment, however, Jaskier watched as Geralt blinked tears from his eyes. It was the first time he had seen The Witcher weep. 

The crowd was closing in on them so Jaskier sprinted to Roach without even thinking. 

Geralt looked shocked as he watched Jaskier grab Roach by the reins and throw himself into the saddle mid leap. Jaskier vocally hissed in pain (he was finally healing and now he ruined it by resting into the saddle and sinking both feet into the stirrups). 

He didn't have time to think so instead he cantered toward the now confused looking crowd. He didn't anticipate them dispersing as fast as he did (and honestly, he's glad they did otherwise he was prepared to break a leg or two).

Once the people were far enough away from The Witcher he turned Roach around and took off towards him. Geralt got the memo and gracefully hopped on the back of the mare with Jaskier still in control of the reins. 

"Are you insane?!" Geralt grabbed onto Jaskier, gripping his arms around the smaller bard. 

"Maybe!" Jaskier replied. 

The adrenaline of the situation hadn't warn off yet and even though he knew what he just did was going to hurt once they are safe, _it was well fucking worth it._

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! More movement in this chapter. Next chapter will be fluffy and whumpy, and Geralt's acknowledges how much of a badass Jaskier is.
> 
> See you again soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I will be updating shortly <3
> 
> Until then, please leave comments/kudos if you enjoyed! I always like to hear feedback. :)


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